


Praying

by caitwritesstuff



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Angst, Homophobia, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Young Victor Nikiforov, before Yuuri, ice adolescence, victor's origin story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 13:40:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13928268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caitwritesstuff/pseuds/caitwritesstuff
Summary: When Victor loves, he loves with all of his heart. Before Yuuri there was a man named Vladimir who changed the course of Victor’s life forever. Without heartbreak, Victor never would have learned that he can choose his family and love those who treat him with all the love and respect he deserves.





	Praying

**Author's Note:**

> I don't usually write angst but this has been sitting in my WIP folder since August so I figured I'd stretch out of my comfort zone a little and finish it. I wanted to write Victor's origin story and I found myself inspired by Kesha's Praying.
> 
> Tumblr: Cait-writes-stuff  
> Twitter: caitwritestuff

 Victor first saw him playing his violin on the corner of a busy square one spring Saint Petersburg morning. Victor was late for practice because this man was absolutely _ethereal_ and he could bear to pull himself away. Victor couldn’t help but to stop and stare at the way this man gently swayed to his own song. The music he played was beautiful, an unfamiliar melody that enthralled Victor’s soul like a siren song. The way he closed his eyes and just let the music overcome him took Victor’s breath away and he knew in that moment the violinist could ask anything of him and Victor would willingly give up his body and soul to him.

A crowd of people started to gather around to watch the display and when the violinist let the final note ring into the open air, the small crowd of people clapped and a few dropped a couple rubles into his open violin case and continued on their way. Soon enough, Victor was the lone bystander remaining, still entranced by the violinist’s presence. The violinist turned and caught Victor openly staring at him and smiled warmly at him.

“Hello.” The violinist smiled. Victor glanced around in disbelief to see that he actually was talking to him.

“Hi.” Victor responded with a shy insecure wave. The violinist’s arresting green eyes focused on him suddenly made him feel woefully unworthy of being in this man’s presence. “You play beautifully.” Victor complimented, bowing his head sheepishly.

“Thank you. I wrote it myself. I can play you another if you’d like?” He offered with a wink. Victor stomach fluttered with nervous butterflies and nodded eagerly with a bright smile. The violinist chuckled and brought his instrument back up to his shoulder and began playing a new melody. “I’m Vladimir, by the way.” He said over the sound of his music.

“Victor.” Victor responded, swaying slightly to Vladimir’s song.

“You’re that skater right? I saw your Worlds performance. It’s a shame you didn’t win. Personally, I think the judges underscored you.” He mentioned conversationally. Victor frowned, still sour over his senior debut ‘loss’. He ended up finishing in third in his second year as a senior competitor and was still a little bitter about it. Victor knew he was better than bronze.

“I’ll win this year for sure.” Victor promised with determination. Vladimir’s lip quirked up in amusement.

“You’ve got confidence kid. I like it.” Vladimir chuckled and Victor’s cheeks flushed at the sound. Victor never heard a laugh so beautiful before in his life.

“Will you . . . will you compose a song for me?” Victor blurted out eagerly. Vladimir appraised Victor with an amused glint of his eye. He halted his playing and set his violin down before stepping in close to Victor. Vladimir was now standing close enough that Victor could vaguely smell that his musky cologne is scented heavily with bergamot and sandalwood.

Vladimir brought his hand up to Victor’s neck and tilted Victor’s chin up so that the teen’s wide sincere eyes met the violinist’s stormy, seductive gaze. A smirk tugged at the edges of Vladimir’s lips as he leaned in teasingly close to Victor’s lips.

“Only if you promise you’ll skate for me. I’d really like to see it.” Vladimir proposed, his breath brushing across Victor’s lips. Victor swallowed hard and nodded silently in agreement. Vladimir smiled gently and ran his hand through Victor’s flowing silver hair before sliding a business card into the front pocket of Victor’s jeans. “Here’s my number. Hit me up sometime and I’ll show you a night you’ll never forget, kid.” Vladimir winked.

Vladimir stepped away and the spell he had over Victor was broken. Vladimir turned away and put his violin back in it’s case before slinging the case’s strap over the shoulder of his weathered leather jacket. When he turned back he gave Victor a two fingered salute.

“See you around kid.” Vladimir said before disappearing into the crowds of mid morning commuter traffic, no doubt onto his next performance, his next adventure, his next love struck young adult.  

There’s one thing for sure: Victor’s life would never be the same again.

For the next couple of days, Victor fiddled with Vladimir’s business card that always remained tucked in his pocket. Victor wanted so desperately to call Vladimir and take him up on his offer but he would turn the card in his hand when he felt the urge to call him to meet up before eventually shoving the card back in his pocket when he lost his nerve. Every day Victor took the same route to the rink that had brought Vladimir into his life but he never saw him again.

Maybe the beautiful violinist on the subway platform was just a crazy, wonderful, and woefully unattainable dream after all.

Victor was about to give up on ever seeing him again when mid-practice he heard familiar violin strains floating across the ice. Victor gasped in delight and halted mid spin, much to Yakov’s annoyance, and turned to see Vladimir standing rinkside serenading the rink with his passionate music. Ignoring Yakov’s irate commands, Victor skated over to the barrier and lifted himself onto his toe picks, waving at Vladimir

“Vlad! You came!” Victor exclaimed cheerfully. Vladimir came over to the boards and leaned over the barrier on his elbow with a comfortable smile gracing his lips.

“I said I wanted to see you skate, didn’t I?” Vlad smiled.

“I’m really glad you came.” Victor said, his voice lowering to a whisper.

He wasn’t sure why but he wanted to keep Vladimir to himself. Maybe he didn’t want anyone privy to private moments like this, maybe a part of him thought he was a figment of his imagination and would vanish into thin air should another person disturb them.

To Victor, Vladimir seemed like a shooting star, only brilliant and his for the briefest moment of time before disappearing like nothing had ever happened. Victor would hold onto Vladimir’s light for as long as he could.

“Victor! Get back here or I swear you’ll be coming in two hours early everyday until you retire!” Yakov threatened. Victor sighed and his shoulders slumped.

“I have to get back to practice.” Victor sighed. Vladimir covered Victor’s hand with his own and squeezed his fingers reassuringly. Victor’s eyes snapped to Vladimir’s in surprise at the unexpected contact.

“Go be great, kid. I’ve got your contract for you to sign after your done for the day.” Vladimir said.

“You’re staying?” Victor asked, butterflies fluttering in his stomach at the thought that Vladimir would stay in a cold rink for hours just to watch _him_.

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” Vladimir swore.

“Victor!” Yakov’s rage boomed across the ice. Victor whipped his head back to Yakov, his long silver ponytail betraying him by curling around whipping him across his own face. Victor smoothly tossed his hair back over his shoulder and turned back to Vladimir.

“I’ll see you after practice?” Victor asked.

“I’ll be here.” Vladimir swore with a warm smile.

Victor skated back over to Yakov with a renewed vigor. He had so much joy overflowing in his heart that he could hardly stand it.

“Who is that man, Vitya?” Yakov questioned suspiciously, eyeing where Vladimir sat watching from the sidelines.

“Oh that’s Vladimir. He’s going to compose the music for my new free skate program.” Victor explained with a joyful smile permanently spread across his face. Victor’s face ached he was so happy but no part of him could find the energy to care.

Vladimir came back. _For him._

“When did we decide that?” Yakov asked gruffly.

“ _We_ didn’t. _I_ did. I want to create my own program this year. This will be my third year in the senior division. I want to start choreographing my own programs. _This_ is what’s going to take my career to the next level and Vladimir just so happens to be the best musician in St. Petersburg.” Victor insisted, his heart swelling with pride.  

Yakov’s stony face showed no hint of what he thought of Victor’s cry for independence. His cool eyes searched Victor’s face for something Victor couldn’t work out before flickering over Victor’s shoulder to appraise their audience with a skeptical eye. Seeing that Victor was determined to have this his way, Yakov let out an exhausted defeated sigh.

Somehow he knew his student was asking for forgiveness and not for permission in this instance and would stop at nothing to achieve what he wants. Yakov supposed he would be better off letting Victor do what he wants under his careful supervision rather than denying him and his student choosing to do it behind his back anyway. Victor had been his rising star pupil for years, so perhaps it was only fair that Yakov loosen the reins and allow him the artistic freedom Victor clearly craved.

“Don’t make me regret this Vitya.” Yakov relented. Victor enveloped Yakov in a tight hug bouncing up and down in excitement.

“Thank you Yakov! I promise I’ll win gold this year.” Victor swore.

“I’m counting on it. Now take it back to the top. You’re going to run this short program until you get it right and don’t you even think about complaining.” Yakov warned and clapped his hands to signal for Victor to assume the opening position of his short program.  On the way to the center of the ice Victor waved to Vladimir and gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up.

After practice Vladimir insisted on taking Victor out for a night on the town. Victor was exhausted from practice but he was also riding high on the giddy energy that bubbled inside him with Vladimir by his side so he agreed and Vladimir took him by the hand and swept him away into the night.

‘To new beginnings’ Vladimir toasted over dinner at a quaint little restaurant hidden in the belly of the city. Conversation flowed easily between the pair, made easier with good food, flowing wine and the dimmed romantic lighting of the restaurant. Even after their meal was finished, their bottle of wine ran empty and the restaurant had to kindly ask them to leave at closing time the couple left and spent the entire night hand in hand simply taking in the world around them. At the end of the night Vladimir walked Victor back to his parents doorstep and left him with a tender kiss to the forehead.

“Can I see you again?” Victor asked, hesitating in letting Vladimir disappear again into the night. Tonight had been so perfect, he didn’t dare risk anything that would cause the musician to vanish into thin air again.  

“Just say when.” Vladimir promised. Vladimir’s lips crooked up in a smile as he tucked Victor’s hair behind his ear.

“Tomorrow?” Victor asked, letting his hand creep up to rest on Vlad’s chest. Vladmir smiled slowly and tenderly cradled Victor’s cheeks between his hands.

“It would be my honor.” Vlad promised. Victor’s heart practically leapt out of his chest and in a moment of exuberant joy he pushed himself up on his toes and connected his lips with Vladimir’s. Vladimir responded by moving his hungrily against Victor’s. Victor hooked his arms around Vlad’s neck and Vladimir buried his fingers in the long strands of Victor’s hair as he angled himself so that he was practically devouring Victor’s lips.

When Victor reluctantly pulled away Vlad bid him another heartfelt goodbye before descending the steps and disappearing into the night. Victor turned away from Vlad’s retreating silhouette and pushed open the door of his childhood home. With one hand on his lips and the other clutching at his heart, Victor leaned against the door and let out a wistful sigh.

“Vitya? Is that you darling?” Victor’s mother called from the top of the grand staircase that curled up the second floor of their lavish home. She descended the steps with a graceful ballerina hand on the railing and her elegant silk dressing gown billowing lightly behind her.

Victor immediately adjusted himself to stand up straight and composed himself to hide all signs of his wildly beating love struck heart.

“You’re back quite late, darling. Was Yakov keeping you?” She asked.

“I didn’t mean to worry you, Mama. I had a meeting with someone from the industry.” Victor lied smoothly.

“At this hour?” Victor’s mother frowned. “I trust you darling, but let’s not make a habit of this. Your father was out of his mind with worry.” She said, running her hand tenderly through Victor’s long hair, coming to rest at his cheek.

“Sorry Mama.” Victor apologized obediently with a sigh.

“I warn you, you’re a few missed curfews away from your father starting to think we’ve somehow raised a _delinquent._ ” She warned with a light teasing smile. Victor laughed and rolled his eyes good naturedly.

“Yeah that’s me. The rebellious son.” Victor joked. His mother laughed quietly along with him, the idea that Victor could be anything but the model son any parent would be proud of tickled her pink.

“Just warn us the next time you decide to disappear into the night.” She chastised gently. “I left your dinner in the microwave. Be sure to let Makka out before you go to bed.” She instructed. Victor pressed a kiss to his mother's crown of his mother’s silver coiffed hair.

“Thank you Mama. I ate while I was out but I’ll be sure to wrap it up and take it to the rink tomorrow.” Victor promised. His mother smiled softly and patted his son’s cheek.

“Good boy.” She praised. “Go to bed soon, yeah?”

“I promise Mama.” Victor swore, reaching up and playfully ruffling her hair. She tutted and pushed his hand to prevent her son from messing up her hair any further. Victor laughed carefree and doubled down on his attacks, grabbing his mother in his toned arms and ruffling her hair even more vigorously.

“Vitya!” She cried between her laughter, trying desperately to wriggle free. Eventually Victor gave mercy on his mother and halted his attacks. “What’s put you in such a good mood today, darling?” His mother asked.

“I don’t know.” Victor said even though his mind went straight to thoughts of his date with Vladimir. “I guess I’m just having a good day.”

“Well whatever it is, it suits you.” She complimented. Victor smiled and hugged his mother closely to his chest. The sentiment didn’t mean much in reality but to Victor it meant the world to him that on some level his mother approved of him being selfishly happy.  

Time passes and Victor continues his whirlwind secret relationship with Vladimir. Despite having to his this part of himself from his loved ones Victor is deliriously happy dating Vlad. Every day Victor looks forward to seeing Vlad and whenever their eyes meet from across the rink his heart flutters.

Victor doesn’t know what these feelings are but a part of him is giddy to think that this might be love.

When they first got together Victor had asked Vladimir to create a song for him that would be about change, about Victor growing up from the young skater he used to be and into a strong man that his country and loved ones could be proud of. Victor was maturing into a young adult and Vlad was going to help him show that to the rest of the world.

Despite his excitement and optimism for the future Victor often still finds himself lying wide awake at night, tossing and turning in his bed with Vlad’s charming smile ingrained into the back of his eye lids. An indescribable lead weight of dread sits in his stomach as well.

Victor’s serious about Vladimir. Victor can easily envision himself spending a very long time with his secret boyfriend in his life. But yet Victor is still faced with the terrifying thought that his parents might not accept him for what he is.

One night Victor looks over to his alarm clock and sighed. The bright green numbers read back that it was four am and showed that clearly there was absolutely no hope of him getting a decent night's sleep tonight. Victor groans and sits up in bed, resigning to not being able to fall asleep.

Victor scrubbed his face and silently slipped out of bed and padded out of his room towards his parent’s kitchen for a glass of water. Makkachin lifted her head from Victor’s bed and watched Victor curiously. Reluctantly she pulled herself to her feet and followed Victor down to the kitchen.

Victor didn’t even bother turning off the light as he poured himself a glass of water. He leaned himself against the marble countertop as he slowly sipped at his water, trying to will away the nauseous feeling that was settling in his stomach. As he sipped from his glass in the darkness a realization hit Victor like a ton of bricks.

He loves Vladimir.

Shame and dread settles into his stomach like a lead weight. He sets his water glass down and leans down to hide his face in his arms, his cheek resting against the cool marble counter. Tears slid down his cheeks and pearled on the polished stone. Makkachin pressed her face against Victor’s thigh in concern but Victor couldn’t bring himself to reassure her that he was alright.

What was he going to do?

Suddenly the kitchen light flicked on and Victor immediately straightened his spine, wiped the tears from his eyes, and turned to face his intruder.

“Vitya? What are you doing up so early?” Victor’s mother asked, tightening her silk night robe around her petit waist.

“Sorry Mama. I couldn’t sleep.” Victor apologized, turning away to refill his water glass and to avoid looking his mother in the eye. Mrs. Nikiforov stepped closer to her son and placed a delicate graceful hand on Victor’s shoulder.

“Is there something on your mind, darling?” Mrs. Nikiforov asked, tenderly combing her immaculately manicured fingers through Victor’s long silken hair.

“It’s nothing Mama.” Victor reassured, kissing his mother on the crown of her head.

“Go back to sleep soon, darling. You’ll need all the rest you can get.” Mrs. Nikiforov said. Victor could only hum non committedly in response. He knew there was no possibility of him falling asleep anytime too soon.

“I’m actually going to head to the rink early and get some extra training in.” Victor said moving to the door and slipping on a pair of worn running shoes and slinging his training bag over his shoulder. The rink was only a few miles away from his parents home so most mornings he would jog to the rink so that by the time he got there he was already fairly warmed up.

Today he needed the run to clear his mind.

Before Victor could step out the front door, his mother caught his attention. “I’m proud of you Vitya.” His mother said tenderly, her soft caring eyes speaking nothing but unconditional love for her son. That soothed Victor’s mind, if only slightly.

Maybe he wasn’t quite so alone as he thought he was.

Victor turned back and smiled weakly at her, “Thanks Mama.” Victor left before he could hear her response.

Victor jogged his normal route to the rink. It was still dark out in St. Petersburg but that didn’t seem to register in Victor’s mind until he got to the rink and the doors were locked without anyone in sight that could unlock it for him.

He could have easily just let himself in with the security code that Yakov had given him for just such occasions but Victor just sighed and kept running.

He wasn’t sure where he was running to, he just followed where his heart took him. Just as dawn was starting to stain the sky with deep purple and hues of pink, Victor recognized where his feet had taken him.

This was Vlad’s street.

With a destination now set in his heart, Victor slowed his jog to a walk. He shoved his hands into his hoodie and kept his head down as he stepped up the steps to Vlad’s building. Victor pressed the buzzer to Vlad’s apartment and waited. When he didn’t answer after a few minutes Victor pressed the button for harder and longer than before.

“ _What do you want? Who is it?”_ Vladmir’s voice grumbled from the speaker. Victor hesitated in pressing the speaker button for a moment but ultimately decided he was already here so he might as well.

“It’s me, Vlad. Victor.” Victor responded. Silence fell and extended until Victor was sure that he mustn't have pressed the button hard enough.

Just before Victor was about to repeat himself, Vlad spoke up, “ _I’ll be right down.”_

“Victor? What are you doing here? It’s like . . .” Vladimir squinted down at his watch “five am. Is everything cool?”

“Can I come in?” Victor asked, kicking a stray pebble off of the staircase. Vladimir opened his door wider and gestured for Victor to enter his home. Victor silently stepped through the doorway and together Vladimir led Victor up to his apartment on the third floor.

Victor had only been in Vlad’s apartment maybe once or twice before and the state of it was just the same as when he was in it before. Dishes were piled high in the sink, clothes were strewn across the floor, some of them being his own that he had accidentally left behind the last time he was here, and a variety of instruments and wadded up sheets of staff paper covered the once ornate floor trim.

Vladimir’s building was in an older part of the city that has since fallen into disrepair. Victor could easily imagine a time a time gone by when aristocrats might have lived in his lover’s apartment. It looked rough now but under the chipped wood, peeling wallpaper, and layers of dust, the apartment had a certain charm to it.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Vlad asked, collapsing backwards into his bed. Vladimir crossed his arms behind the back of his head to prop up his neck.

“I love you.” Victor blurted, wide eyed and his heart pounding out of control. Vladimir stilled at Victor’s admission and stared at him with wide surprised eyes. Victor stood by the end of Vlad’s bed in awkward silence. “I-I’ll go.” Victor sighed, his shoulders slumping in disappointment. Before Victor could move, Vladimir shot his hand out and caught Victor’s wrist.

“Stay.” Vlad commanded.

Victor nodded silently and slumped into Vladimir’s open arms. He sank down onto the bed so that he was slotted in between Vlad’s legs. Vladimir curled his arms around Victor’s waist and buried his nose into the crook of his neck.

“I’m sorry I reacted like that. You caught me off guard baby.” Vladimir murmured against Victor’s skin. “Does anyone else know?” He asked.

Victor silently shook his head.

“Good.”

And for the briefest moment of time, everything was alright. But like Icarus, Victor too must fall back to the reality of earth far too soon.

Despite the season being completed, Victor works tirelessly away at his training during the off season. He was This was going to be his year, he _was_ going to win the Grand Prix. He had to.

Late one night Vladimir, his loyal boyfriend and composer comes to the rink and convinces Victor to give it a rest, that he needed to give his creative energy time to recharge instead of grinding himself into an early grave.

Victor sighs and after some argument agrees to come off the ice.

“There’s something I want to show you Victor.” Vladimir purrs.

“What is it?” Victor asks. Vladimir took Victor’s hand and gently tugged him towards the doors marked as ‘employee’s only’.

“You trust me, right?” Vladimir encourages with a careful smile.  

Victor couldn’t argue with that logic because of course he trusted Vladimir. So without another word, Vitya follows Vladimir, completely spellbound by his composer’s charm and charisma. Vladimir tugs Victor by the hand through the zamboni garage and leads him up the staircase to the roof of the rink.

In all his years of training, Victor has never ventured to this part of his home away from home. He wasn’t even aware that the rink actually _had_ an accessible roof but now that he does know of it’s existence he is blown away by the view before him.  

“Why did you bring me up here?” Victor asked, wandering over to the edge of the roof. He was struck by how beautiful the view was from up here. From up here Victor could see the glow of the city and watch the bustling city life in the distance while he basked in the way the Neva reflected the summer moonlight.

Victor thought he would have to sneak up here more often.

“I have something I wanted to show you.” Vladimir admitted, taking Victor’s hand and brushing his lips across the back of his hand.

“What is it?” Victor whispered.

Vladimir sank to his knees and layed down on the ground looking up at the night sky. Vladimir wordlessly patted the ground beside him and Victor followed his boyfriend in suit. The ground certainly wasn’t the most comfortable place Victor had ever rested but he found that the way Vladimir held his hand made all thoughts of pebbles painfully scraping against his back disappear.

The bright St. Petersburg lights from the heart of the city drowned out any hope for star gazing but Victor enjoyed a more beautiful sight in front of him. The way the city lights and the moonlight illuminated and danced to play with the natural lines and shadows of Vlad’s face took Vitya’s breath away. In his almost nineteen years of life he had never seen anything more beautiful than his composer in that moment.

“Victor close your eyes.” Vladimir demanded firmly.

“Why?” Victor asked.

“Just trust me.” Vladimir insisted.

“You can just tell me. I-” Vlad silences Victor by leaning in and softly pressing his lips against his.

Before meeting Vladimir, Victor never would have thought a boys lips could be so soft, could taste so exquisitely like chewing gum and cigarettes. By instinct, Victor’s eyes slipped closed, never wanting this moment to end. While Victor was distracted by the moment, Vlad placed a pair of earbuds in Victor’s ears and pressed play on a track that he had already pulled up for the moment.

“Keep your eyes closed.” Vladimir instructed when he pulled away, his voice but a whisper against Victor’s lips. Despite the impulse to open his eyes Victor kept them closed as instructed.

“Wha -” Victor started to ask.

“Just listen.” Vladimir encourages. The beginning strains of a classical song floats into his ears through the earbuds and Victor immediately freezes in his place to take in the sound.  From the very first strain he can tell that this song belonged to Vladimir and was going to be indescribably perfect.

The beginning strains of a light innocent violin melody crescendos from nothing and as the violin begins to dance, Victor can already visualize the moves, the gestures of purity he can portray on the ice. A cello joins in on the dance, appeasing the violins invitation to play by mimicking it’s melody until soon the cello morphs on it’s own into a darker, more complex melody, tempting the violin to follow the cello into its own game.  

The violin naively follows suit, changing the core of itself to belong at the cello’s side in it’s dark game.

The cello crescendos, overpowering the violin and takes complete control of the song. The violin hums and twitters in confusion and half-hearted protest but continues blindly following the cello’s lead despite the growing cacophony of foreign voices building on the horizon. Other orchestral voices join in and with each added layer the violin get buried further and further into the noise until it’s voice is no longer audible among the chaos. Some voices mimic the violin, pretending to hear it's song and others imitated the cello that had initially seduced the violin into this chaotic mess. No voice in the orchestra cared that they were suffocating the violin.

The violin has no idea how to take back control of it’s destiny.

When the sounds become too painful to bear, the violin lets out a sharp pained screech that stops the noise and makes all of the voices finally stop and listen to what the violin has to say. There is a moment of silence, anticipation.

For the first time since the song began the violin is alone with no voice to accompany it. The violin tries to continue the childish melody that had started the song but found itself unable to replicate it. Whenever it tried it came out sounding wrong, perverse. It couldn’t go back into the past melody that had once been so comfortable. It tried playing the melody again and again with each iteration sounding more dark and out of place as the last.

In this moment the violin most needed a counter melody to take the weight off it’s own heavy strains but every voice was silent. The violin, now alone and morose, calling out with the haunting melody of a childhood lost, repeated its call in hopes to find a voice that would call back, that would create a new melody alongside it.

The violin called and called and each call became weaker than the last until the violins voice had almost faded into the silence. Then, a soft piano finally answered the violins prayers and echoes it’s dark strain, it’s own melody reflecting its own unique pain and anguish. The piano was a kindred spirit to the violin. The violin made the call again, sure that it had been imagining the new voice. The piano called back even stronger. The violin hesitated, recalling the chaos the last time it had invited upon itself the last time it had played with another voice. The piano waited in supportive patience for the violin to take the lead of the melody.

Hesitantly, the violin started playing a new melody that echoed the past but was hopeful for the future. The piano joined in with the violins dance, never forcibly taking the lead, never inviting foreign voices into their dance. It was just the violin and the piano dancing towards a brighter future through their harmonic duet.

The song faded away and Victor had tears streaming down his face.

“Is this . . .?” Victor started to ask but before he could finish his composer nodded, assuming the rest of his question.

“It’s yours Victor. This is your song. The one that’s going to win you a thousand competitions.” Vladimir said emphasizing his words with a kiss to Victor’s cheek.

“I only really want to win the Grand Prix.” Victor argued meekly, wiping away the trails of tears from his cheeks.

“You’ll be so rich after the end of this season with all the sponsors and donors you’ll rake in.” Vladimir continued on giving Victor’s lips another kiss, this time accented with a greedy suck of Victor’s lower lip. Victor leaned back and gently pushed against Vladimir’s chest to break the kiss.  

“That just means I’ll have to go to more sponsor events. I hate those.” Victor pouted.

“Come on, baby. Everyone’s going to love you and praise you for how beautiful you are. You’ll be _radiant_.” Vladimir took to nibbling on Victor’s jaw. Viktor pushes back on his composers chest a little harder.

“You think I’m beautiful?” Victor asks. The composer puts on a charming effortless smile and tenderly strokes his fingers through Victor long silver hair. His eyes follow the path of his own fingers as they trail down to rest on Victor’s ever widening shoulders.

“Of course I do baby. Now I can prove it to the rest of the world with my music.” Vladimir puffs with pride, “Trust me baby with my music and your pretty little face, they won’t know what hit them.”

“And my skating too right?” Victor asked.

“Of course baby.” He said, smoothing away the frizz that had developed in Victor’s hair due to the summer night.

Victor used to think that Vladimir was the piano liberating him from everyone who wanted to control his life and career and he was naturally violin in need of a partner to help him reach his full potential. Victor would soon come to find out that he couldn’t be the furthest from the truth.  


* * *

 

“I can’t do it! Something just doesn’t feel right.” Victor proclaimed throwing his new leather gloves that Vladimir had bought for him down onto the ice. He had been trying to skate to the new music for weeks now. The choreography was all there but there, and the music was more than anything he could have ever hoped for but there was just _something_ there that was holding him back. Vladimir, being the dutiful lover that he is, stood by Victor’s side talking him down day in and day out, preventing him from making any drastic changes to the program.

“What doesn’t feel right?” Vladimir asked with frustration in his voice. They had this conversation a million times over and as usual they had gotten nowhere.

“I don’t know! Everything!” Victor cried, throwing his arms up in exasperation.

“You keep saying that but it’s fine! The music is _amazing_. The choreo is great. You’re just being fussy. Either way you’ll win so why does it matter?” Vladimir snapped at him, his voice taking on a harsh edge. Victor shrunk back, clearly hurt and enraged by his words.

“ _I_ say it matters. I want this program to be the start of my senior career. How can it do that if I am not true to myself and perform in a way that moves _me_?” Victor fought back.

Since the start of their relationship they’ve been having more and more fights like this. They had their times of happiness, sure, but in the end they always circled back to the same arguments. It exhausted Victor but Vladimir would always swoop back into Victor’s heart with the same sweet apologetic words and promises that things will get better soon. Victor was starting to wonder if it was really worth it, if Vlad even understood Victor half as much as he once thought he did.

“You’re being too critical. Can’t you leave good enough alone? You’re always here at the fucking rink baby. You never make time for us anymore.” The composer cooed, pulling him into a hug, Victor’s skates gliding easily along the ice under Vlad’s pull. Victor pushed his boyfriend back to arms length.

“I thought you understood better than anyone else. I want to do well, I want to make you proud that I’m skating to your song.” Victor insisted, encircling his arms around his own waist. Vlad let his hand fall to rest at the swell of Victor’s narrow hips, his finger tracing slow circles against Victor’s sweatpants.

“I do understand baby, I do. Don’t worry about me, I know the song will speak on it’s own. Just relax. Everything will work out on it’s own.” Vlad attempted to reassure but Victor was having none of it, not this close to the start of the season. He pushed Vlad’s hand off of his hip and firmly stood his ground.

“No it won’t! I can’t _just relax._ I need to keep working and keep practicing or it’ll never be good enough to perform. I’ll take a season off before I present a subpar program.” Victor said crossing his arms over his chest.

“Come on, baby. You don’t mean that.” Vladimir said softly, lowering his voice to a purr that was supposed to charm Victor. Right now it only made his stomach churn.

“I do, though! I refuse to go another year of being ‘Victor Nikiforov, the young Russian upcomer’. I need to stamp my name this year or no one will ever take me seriously.” Victor insisted.

“You can’t take a year off.” Vladimir deadpanned. Victor scoffed defiantly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Watch me.” Victor challenged. “Either I fix the program and change the music, or I take the season off and realign my career.”

“You can’t change the music. We have a contract baby. There’s nothing wrong with the music.” Vlad insisted, stroking his fingers through Victor’s silky hair. Although his actions said devoted lover, the cold expression on his face told a very different story of a cold businessman hellbent to get what he wants. Victor shoved him away and skated backwards to provide some distance between them.

“I don’t care about a stupid contract! My career is on the line! I’m nearly nineteen. Everyone, my fans, my family, my _country_ , they’re expecting me to be in top form. If I let them down now, if I don’t at least medal at the GPF, they’ll start talking about my retirement before I’ve really had a chance to begin.” Victor argued hysterically.

“You have to keep the music baby. Just . . . change the moves or something.” Vlad said.

“What do you think I’ve been _trying_ to do?” Victor cried, his angry growing with each insistence that _he_ was what was wrong and not the music. The program felt weak. Music or not, he couldn’t convey his rebirth on the ice like he wanted. Something about it just wasn’t him. Victor sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in resigned defeat. “I can’t deal with this right now. Can you just let me be alone right now?” He frowned, moving to skate off to the middle of the rink to continue his work but Vladimir snatched his wrist before Victor could get out of reach.

“Come on now baby, don’t be like that.” Vlad cooed.

“Let go of me.” Victor wrenched his hand away from Vlad’s hold.

“Don’t be mad baby. It’s just business. You’re not mad are you?” Vlad encouraged. Victor was so tired. He didn’t want to do this anymore. He was tired of Vlad being able to so easily manipulating Victor back into his arms. Maybe some space would do them some good afterall.

“Maybe I am.” Victor bristled. “Look, can you just leave me alone right now? I really don’t want to look at you right now.” He sighed.

“Victor, you’re not leaving me are you?” Vladimir’s eyes narrowed.

“I-I don’t know. I just need some space to think.” Victor frowned, his eyes trained to the ice. Vladimir tries one last time to pull Victor into his embrace but Victor pries himself away and turns away, his heart heavy with uncertainty.

Everything felt like he was standing on loose sand, his relationship, his career, his sanity. Victor vaguely registered Vlad’s annoyed sigh as he left Victor standing alone in the dark rink.

He trained in silence until dawn.

When Yakov arrived at the rink the next morning he turned red faced and furious at the sight of Victor still on the ice right were he had left him the night before. Victor had promised the night before that he would only stay for a few more hours at the most. The aging coach evicted the young skater with orders that he was to stretch his sore muscles and take a rest day.

But when has Victor ever listened to Yakov?

Whether it was his sleep deprived exhaustion or genuine remorse for saying the things he did last night, Victor found himself wandering over to Vlad’s apartment rather than going home. His heart told him that he was unfair to Vlad last night. Victor was tired and frustrated but Vlad didn’t deserve to have Victor’s frustrations taken out on him.

Along the way Victor stopped at a dingy, poorly lit grocery store around the corner from Vlad’s apartment to pick up Vlad’s favorite Alyonka chocolates and a bottle of booze for them to share. He knows it wouldn’t completely make up for the things he said but it was a good start to mending their bruised relationship.

When Victor arrives at his boyfriend’s apartment he lets himself in with the spare key that Vlad had given him a few weeks back. All of the lights were on in the living area but no one was in sight. Victor could faintly hear the shower running in the other room so he assumed that Vlad must be up. Victor set down his practice bag on the floor and collapsed onto the couch with his head hanging in his hands.

He really fucked up this time. He loved Vlad more than anything so why did he push him away like that? Victor doesn’t know what he would be without Vlad. This couldn’t be the end.

In the other room the shower shut off and Victor rose to his feet to confront Vlad. He strode confidently towards the bedroom but his hand froze on the doorknob when he heard a male voice that didn’t belong to his boyfriend.

“Vlad, darling, don’t get me wrong I was more than happy to get your call but I thought you’d be spending the night coddling that kid of yours.” The strange voice purred. Victor could distinctly recognize the creak of Vlad’s bed under the weight of an extra person.

“Please stop talking. I don’t want to think about him right now.” Vlad sighed. Against his better judgement, Victor pressed his ear against the door to hear the muffled voices more clearly. “He’s such a fucking diva. I swear to god if this kid wasn’t my meal ticket I would have dumped his ass ages ago.”

“I don’t know why you stay with him anyway. He seems a little high maintenance for your level of commitment.” The stranger continued. Victor recoiled in shock. They were talking about _him_. Despite how much he wanted to turn away and leave, Victor was rooted to the spot.

“He’s just my meal ticket out of this hell hole, you know that. As soon as my music is connected with few gold medals I’ll be able to branch out and go international. The minute I make a name for myself I’ll take you away from Russia and we can finally live the good life together like we always wanted. Can we stop talking now? I can think of a better use of that pretty little mouth of yours anyway.” Vlad said and wet sounds of a lover’s kiss can be heard through the door as if Victor was right in the room with them. Rage and mortification brewed in the pit of Victor’s stomach. Without a second thought Victor slammed open the bedroom door.

“You fucking bastard!” Victor seethed.

Just as Victor expected he caught his boyfriend in bed with another man, a man who was wet, naked and straddling Vlad’s equally naked lap.

“I can’t _believe_ you.” Victor hissed to his boyfriend who had the good sense to look surprised at Victor’s sudden appearance.

“Vitya!” Vlad cried, pushing away the strange lover in his lap and rising to his feet to confront Victor.

“Don’t.” Victor warned dangerously when Vladimir reached out to touch Victor.  

“It’s not what you think.” Vlad tried to say. Victor scoffed at the absurdity of what Vlad was trying to say.

“Of course.” Victor scoffed bitterly. “You make me sick. We’re done Vladimir. I don’t fucking care about the contract, I don’t care about your fucking music. I’m _done_ with you. I don’t ever want to see you again.” Victor seethed before storming out, grabbing his practice bag on the way out the door. Tears streamed down Victor’s face as he furiously rubbed his cheeks to be rid of them.

Damn it. How could he have been such a fool?

Footsteps followed Victor down the sidewalk but Victor tried to ignore Vladimir calling his name. Eventually he caught up and grabbed Victor’s shoulder, halting him in his tracks.

“Let go of me!” Victor shouted shoving Vlad’s hand away. The man standing in front of him wasn’t the kind artist he had so naively fallen in love with but the steely businessman Victor had come to be all too familiar with during the most recent parts of their relationship.

“You can’t leave. We have a contract Victor. Just because you end things between us doesn’t mean you get out of using my music.” Vladimir hissed.

“I’d rather break both of my legs than skate to your music anymore, Vladimir.” Victor replied with a bone chilling coolness to his voice.

“I need exposure and you’re going to give it to me. You _will_ skate.” Vladimir threatened, his hand reaching up to tightly grip Victor’s chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Or what?” Victor challenged.

Victor didn’t know what he was going to do but what the composer said next chilled him to his very core in a way that no amount of time a cold Saint Petersburg night could accomplish.

“I’ll go public.” He said, his words echoing off the buildings of the empty street.

“What?”

“If you leave me, if you throw my song out, I’ll tell everyone how much of a fucking diva you really are.” Vladimir threatened.

“See if I care. Everyone already knows that anyway.” Victor waved off. Victor shoved Vladimir’s hand off of his face and turned around to start walking away when Vladimir’s next words froze him in his spot.

“I’ll tell them about us.” Victor’s world freezes and a terrified chill runs down his spine.

Here he was, his first boyfriend, his most trusted lover threatening to out him to the entire world. This wasn’t how he wanted this to happen, to be blackmailed out of the closet. Nobody knew about their relationship but him and Vladimir and Russia wasn’t exactly a friendly country to be out and alone.

Vladimir knew exactly what buttons to push to make Victor terrified out of his mind and willing to cooperate.

Whatever happened beyond this point Victor knew would change his life forever and knew for a fact he a would never be able to trust Vladimir ever again. He only hoped he would be able to survive whatever comes next.

“What did you say?” Victor deadpanned hoping to God that this wasn’t really happening, that this was really just a terrible nightmare and he would wake up safe and sound warm in the real Vlad’s warm embrace.

Victor had no such luck.

“You heard me. If you pull out of the contract now I’ll spill every fucking detail to every fucking trashy mag from St. Petersburg to Moscow. When I’m through with you, you won’t be able to book a fucking amateur ice show on a frozen pond in Siberia. Think about your next move wisely _Vitya._ ” He sneers coldy.

In a moment of clarity Victor realized everything had been a lie. Maybe at one point Vladimir had genuine feelings for Victor, maybe not, but somewhere along the way it got twisted and matted up in his greed and opportunism. Vladimir saw Victor’s drive and talent and hungered after the benefits the Victor could give him. Victor didn’t even recognize the man who is standing in front of him.

“You’re blackmailing me? But I-I loved you. How can you say these things!” Victor demanded growing angrier with each word. He felt used, dirty. Vladimir scoffed once humorlessly.

“Oh Victor,” He sighed, reaching out and tucking Victor’s flowing hair behind his ear. Victor slapped his hand away just the thought of the composer touching him made his skin crawl. Vladimir sneered down at Victor. “What do you even know about love?”

“Leave. Now.” Victor hissed.

“Hmpf.” Vladimir huffed with a cocky smirk. “I trust you’ll remember this conversation, then? You owe me Victor.” Vladimir threatened.

“You can have your stupid fucking money just go!” Victor cried. Without another word, Vladimir turned on his heel and retreated back into his building, leaving Victor cold and alone in the cold St. Petersburg morning. Despite the summer sun starting to warm the city, Victor wrapped his arms around his middle to hold together the aching hole that had bore its way into the pit of his stomach.  

The next few days passed in a monochrome blur.

Victor’s stuck. With Vladimir’s ax hanging over his head Victor feels immobile for the first time in his life. He’s terrified of the ramifications of being forced out of the closet by his former lover, someone that Victor had once cherished so deeply but was now perverted and twisted so sharply against him.

But what other choice did he have?

He could either continue skating to a program that he hated, even more so now than ever, choose a different program and suffer Vladimir’s consequences, or he could bite the bullet and beat Vladimir to the punch and come out himself, effectively stealing Vladimir’s thunder but inviting hell himself. None of those options particularly appealed to Victor.

The worst part was he had no one else to turn to. His parents would disown him, his friends would leave him to the dogs, Yakov might cease his mentorship, and he would most definitely lose what few sponsorships he had. He had too much to lose to let Vladimir win so Victor stayed silent, continuing to skate to a program he now hated.

Anger and resentment boiled inside him for weeks until it threatened to overflow. He considered so many ways out of this situation, so many ways to end this torture but there was no good option that Victor could live with. No matter how many ideas he came up with he always came back to the thought that he needs to take his own fate back into his own hands, come out on his own terms so that Vlad wouldn’t have any leverage against him.

Coming out is easier said than done.

One night everything came to a boiling point at his parents dinner table.

“Vitya, is everything alright? You’ve been awfully quiet lately.” Mrs. Nikiforov asked over dinner. Victor hummed noncommittedly and pushed around the borscht in his bowl with his gleaming silver spoon.

“Answer your mother when she is speaking to you.” Mr. Nikiforov commanded firmly.

“I’m fine mom. Just a little tired from training is all.” Victor lied, setting his spoon down. “I-I’m actually pretty exhausted. I’m going to go lay down.” Victor sighed, already pushing himself away from the table.

“Victor Nikiforov finish the dinner your mother made you. I didn’t raise an ungrateful son.” Mr. Nikiforov commanded. Victor clenched his fists but ultimately sank back down into his seat silently and continued stirring around the blood red soup, his appetite long gone.

“Are you feeling sick, sweetie?” Mrs. Nikiforov asked, reaching over to brush Victor’s hair back away from his face to feel for a temperature. Victor instinctively leaned away from her touch.

“I’m fine mom, I swear.” Victor insisted.

“Don’t lie to your mother, Victor!” Mr. Nikiforov’s fist slammed on the edge of the table. Victor jumped at the violent sound.

“What’s with you, Vitya? You’ve been acting odd for weeks?” His mother asked, setting her spoon down and eying her son with concern.

With his mother’s intent patient look combined with his father’s cold calculating stare, Victor felt cornered and under attack. His heart started pounding, his breathing became labored, and he felt like he was about to vomit

“I’m gay!” Victor blurted impulsive. The silence that followed was absolutely deafening but for the briefest moment Viktor felt a calming release to finally say it out loud. The moment was quickly swept away with the sound of cutlery violently colliding against the table.

Victor looked up to see that his father’s face turned red with rage and his mother had started to weep with heartbroken tears behind her hands. Victor sat petrified in his own seat, too terrified to move or say anything.

Victor’s father rose from his seat at the head of the table. His presence loomed a dark cloud of danger across the entire dinner table. Victor was terrified and utterly caught under his command.

“Natalya get the scissors.” His father spoke in a low cool voice.

“Dimitri . . .” Victor’s mother shook her head.

“Now Natalya!” His father boomed.

Victor’s mother stared at her husband in equal parts fear and shock. When she didn’t move Victor’s father slammed his fist down onto the table. Victor’s mother jumped to her feet and obediently walked into the kitchen to grab the closest kitchen shears she could find. Victor’s father grabbed them from her hands and stalked over to Victor.

Victor shook in fear but found himself unable to move. He wanted to run, get as far away from this place as possible but he stayed rooted in his spot. When he reached Victor he wrapped a hand around Victor long hair and pulled it taut. Victor cried out in pain and wrenched his eyes shut, praying that this would end

Victor’s father started hacking at Victor’s hair with the dull scissors. Victor cried out in pain and his mother fell to her knees and sobbed her prayers the entire time. Victor’s father continued cutting and cutting until most of Victor hair had fallen to the ground below him and Victor was only left with jagged and choppy chin length hair. Pained tears stream down Victor’s cheeks but there’s nothing he can do, nowhere he can go without incurring further wrath from his father.

“No son of mine is gay! Do you hear me? I won’t let a Nikiforov lay with the devil and call it _love._ It’s time you grew up and started acting like a man.” His father seethed. With all of Victor’s hair now gone, his father threw the scissors down on among the fallen silver locks on the kitchen floor and stormed out of the house slamming the door behind him. When he was gone Victor’s mother crawled over to her son and cradled him to her chest rocking back and forth.

“My baby. My poor baby.” She sobbed repeatedly in a mantra. “Please God why? Why my baby?” She bawled.

Victor allows himself to sob into his mother’s shirt but he knows that he can’t be here when his father gets back. As soon as he can, Victor detaches himself from his mother, hastily shoves his skates and a drawer full of clothes into a duffle bag, hooks Makkachin to a leash and leaves his parent’s home. His mother begs and pleads at his elbow for him to stay but his father made it quite clear that he wasn’t welcome here.

With just his skates, a duffle bag slung across his shoulder, the clothes on his back, and his most loyal companion by his side, Victor leaves his childhood home. Victor pulls up the hood of his jacket and keeps his hood up and head down to cover his mangled hair and shame filled tears as he absently wanders the streets of Saint Petersburg with no real destination at mind. Somehow he winds up at the practice rink without really recalling how he got there.

He supposes this is the only true home he has left anyway.

Victor sighs and lets himself in with the security code Yakov gave him years ago to indulge Victor’s tendency for late night practice sessions without disturbing Yakov at some ungodly hour to let Victor in. Not wanting to skate right now, Victor makes his way down the hallway to the ballet studio overlooking the rink in an enclosed fully heated room.

Since it was such a late hour he was naturally the only person here at this hour. Even the cleaning staff had gone home for the night. Victor dropped his duffle bag onto the floor of the studio with a loud thud. Even though he came to the rink he had absolutely no desire to practice.

Victor sighed and sank down with his back against the mirrored wall and curled his arms around his knees. Makkachin nudged at his elbows for a few minutes before huffing in defeat and curling up with her side pressed against Victor’s hip. Victor buried his head in his knees and let himself freely cry. He cried until his head ached his soul felt numb and time seemed to pass by unnoticed.

Victor sat curled up in the dance studio until the early hours of the morning.The automatic timer of the hallway lights turned on promptly at 4am in preparation for the usual early risers at the rink but Victor made no effort to move.

Victor knew he should call Yakov, give him some sort of excuse that he’s sick, and find some other place he can be alone before anyone finds him here but he just couldn’t find the energy to move. Before he could make his escape, Lilia walks into the studio to prepare for her morning beatdowns of the young skaters. Victor could only spare a passing glance up at her.

“Vitya? What are you doing here this early?” She asked setting down her things and turning on the lights. The sudden harsh lights stung Victor’s raw eyes. Victor pulled the hood of his jacket down farther to shield his eyes and hide his appearance. He had avoided looking in the mirror he was resting against all night, fearful of catching sight of his own monstrous appearance, but knew he for fact that he didn’t want Lilia, his coach’s wife and his ballet trainer to see him like this.

“I was just about to leave.” Victor mumbled, his own voice sounding hoarse and scratchy.

“Vitya are you alright? Is this about the new program?” She asked stepping closer to Victor. Victor shrunk back into his hoodie. “I’m sure you’ll get past your slump. You always do.” She encouraged. Victor hummed dismissively before pushing himself to his feet and shoving his hands into his pockets. He needed get out of here and be alone for a while.

Lilia caught Victor’s shoulder as he passed and turned him around.

“Victor are you alr-” She started to ask before she gasped when she got a good look at Victor’s appearance for the first time since entering the room. “Oh Vitya. What _happened?_ ” Lilia asked, gently pushing down Victor’s hood to reveal the haggard trim that his father gifted him. Unshed tears brimmed in Lilia’s eye as she ran her fingers through the remnants of Victor’s silky silver hair. The look on her face made it seem like she had just witnessed demon clipping an angel’s wings.

“Who did this to you?” Lilia asked, gently cradling Victor’s face in her hands. Victor closed his eyes and leaned into Lilia’s careful touch, letting a tear slip down his cheek.

“Papa . . . he -” Victor tried to explain but found that he couldn’t even begin to explain without a nauseating lump preventing speech. “Oh god Lilia, I fucked up. I fucked up. I’m so sorry. I fucked up.” Victor broke down into sobs. He pulled Lilia into a tight hug, sobbing uncontrollably into her shoulder. Lilia wrapped her arms around Victor and held him as he cried.

“Come. I’m taking you home.” She commanded firmly, leading Victor towards the exit of the studio. Victor pulled back, eyes wide with fear.

“No, please no! You can’t take me back there! I can’t go back, _I can’t.”_ Victor cried, backing away from Lilia. Lilia held her hands up and approached Victor as if he were a frightened animal.

“Vitya I promise I won’t take you back to your father. I want to take you to a safe place Vitya. I want to take you to my home, give you a bed and a hot meal. Can I do that?” Lilia asked, approaching Victor slowly. Victor nodded and let Lilia wrap her arm around his shoulder and lead him out of the training facility before any of his teammates could arrive for morning practice.  

The drive to Lilia and Yakov’s place was silent. Victor pressed his cheek against Makka’s soft shoulder and didn’t say anything and Lilia gave him his space to think.

How could things have gone so wrong so fast? Not so long ago he had a family, a lover, and his pride. Now, he wasn’t sure what he had left of himself anymore. His future seemed so uncertain now, he feared more than anything that his career, the last remaining part of _himself_ , would also be taken away from him as soon as people realized the truth about him. He felt completely hopeless.

“Vitya? Come inside. I have leftover pirozhki in the fridge.” Lilia said pulling Victor out of his spiraling thoughts. Victor forced a smile and got out of the car to follow Lilia inside her home with Makka trotting dutifully by his side.

“Thank you Lilia. You didn’t have to do this. I’m just your student.” Victor said but Lilia waved him away.

“Nonsense. You are like a son to me Vitya. I just wish you would have told me he was like this before it came to this.” She frowned. Victor hung his head in shame.

“It’s never - he’s never . . . not like this. I deserved this.” Victor defended.

“No.” Lilia seethed, halting with her hand on the door knob.

“Sorry?” Victor asked.

“I don’t care however he justified doing this to you. You _never_ deserved this Vitya.” Lilia argued in a firm tone that left no room for argument. Victor smiled inwardly at the thought that he still had someone left on his side of the ring. Lilia had a reputation of being a hard woman but Victor knew he could count on her. He could only hope she would still be on her side after all the dust settled.

When they walked inside the luxurious house Yakov was sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper, as per his ordinary morning routine. He spared a glance up at his wife and immediately set his paper down as soon as he saw the state their guest and star pupil was in.

“Vitya? What happened?” Yakov questioned, pushing himself up from his chair. The sound of the chair scraping against the wood caused Victor to wince.

“Not now Yakov. Victor needs to rest. We’ll talk later.” Lilia intervened already guiding Victor towards the stairs leading to the bedrooms. Yakov looked like he wanted to protest but Lilia cut him off with a look that could freeze just about any conscious soul in their tracks. “I said _later._ ” She warned.

Lilia guided Victor to their guest room and ushered him inside with an uncharacteristically warm demeanor.

“Rest as long as you need to Vitya. I’ll have food prepared for you when you wake up and then we can talk.” Lilia promised. Victor nodded, grateful that she had been so caring and patient through everything. “If you need anything at all Vitya, please don’t hesitate to ask.” She reassured before closing the bedroom door and leaving Victor alone again with his own thoughts.

Normally, this would have been the perfect time for his every doubt and insecurity to attack him at full force but he found that as soon as his head hit the pillow he was lost to the world. Although his slumber was restless, Victor was grateful that his sleep was at the very least dreamless.

When he woke up again the blueish purple hues of dusk were filtering in through the bedroom window. For the briefest of moments he thought yesterday had all been some terrible nightmare but the smell of Lilia’s cooking wafting through the door reminded him far too much of his reality.

Deciding Victor couldn’t delay this any longer, he decided to make his way downstairs. Out of the corner of his eye Victor caught his reflection in the glass pane of a photo hanging up on the wall and he quickly averted his eyes. When he descended the stairs he could hear Yakov and Lilia were conversing in hushed whispers as she cooked in the kitchen. The both stopped talking and shifted their gaze to Victor when they heard him enter the room. Or more accurately when Makka bounded into the kitchen in search of food and effectively announcing Victor’s presence.

“Thank you for letting me stay here.” Victor said breaking the silence. “I don’t think I have anywhere else to go.”

“What happened last night Vitya?” Yakov asked, getting straight to the point.

“Ah-ah. Food first.” Lilia scolded firmly. Yakov sighed, resigning to his wife's demands.

Dinner with the couple was certainly tense with the unfinished conversation left looming over their heads. Victor didn’t have much of an appetite but ate enough that Lilia deemed satisfactory before they cleaned up and gathered in the living room for what was bound to be the most painful discussion in Victor’s memory. Victor was terrified they would reject him like every other loved one in Victor’s life had but they had already done so much to help him in his moment of need that he figured they at least deserved to know what had happened the night before.

They both patiently waited seated across from Victor, waiting for him to be the one to speak first. Victor didn’t even know where to start.

“For the past few months I’ve been having an affair with Vladimir” Victor began. Yakov’s hand curled into a fist at the admission. Victor paused for a moment in preparation for the backlash but it never came.

Instead in a hard frigid voice Yakov ground out something he didn’t expect to hear him say.

“Did he do this to you?” Yakov seethed.

“No. I have Papa to thank for that.” Victor laughed humorlessly. “Yakov I’m in a lot of trouble right now and I have no idea how to fix it. I thought . . . I thought I loved Vlad but he just used me to elevate his career. He’s blackmailing me. He says that he’ll reveal to the entire world that I’m gay if I don’t continue giving him exposure. I thought I could take back my own life by coming out on my own terms but as you can see my father didn’t take it well.” Victor explained, running his fingers through his unevenly chopped hair. His hair stopped far shorter than his fingers were used to.

“Vladimir . . . That snake!” Yakov growled slamming his fist down on the table. “I knew we never should have trusted him. I’m sorry you’ve been put in this position Vitya. I should have been more wary of how close you two were becoming.” Yakov frowned.

“You’re not mad that I’m-”

“I can’t say I understand it but I have no right to judge you for what makes you happy, Victor.” Yakov said. Victor felt like a tremendous weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. Despite having cried so much in the past twenty four hours he still found that tears of relief slid down his cheeks. Victor sobbed and pulled Yakov into a crushing hug. Yakov hesitated at the contact but relaxed into Victor’s embrace, patting his back comfortingly. “As your coach, I do however reserve the right to be scrutinous of the people who invite themselves close to you, especially where your career is concerned.”

“Thank you Yakov. You have no idea how much this means to me but I’m not sure I’m going to have much of a career after all of this is over.” Victor confessed.

“We’ll get through this Vitya. Come hell or high water you’ll always have a place in my rink.” Yakov swore. Victor felt his heart swell with gratitude and in that moment the future didn’t seem nearly as daunting as it had been earlier.

For the rest of the night they strategized how to turn this situation in Victor’s favor. They decided that Victor would need to hold a press conference soon to combat the damage Vladimir would inevitably cause. Yakov would get in contact with his lawyers to see what could be done legally about the situation. Lastly, Yakov and Victor discussed what they wanted to do with the his free skate program.

Honestly, Victor had no idea.

Victor hated the idea of even hearing the music again. He knew he had every right to want to refuse to skate the program and choose different music but a part of him hesitated. Victor told Yakov he didn’t know what he wanted to do with the program yet and Yakov let the subject drop for now.

The next morning Victor dreads looking in the mirror but realized before he did anything he needed to fix his hair. This is the first time he’s actually taken a clear look at his own appearance.

Gone are his trademark long curtains of silver. His hair is uneven and jagged, disfiguring even with his delicate features. Victor searched through Yakov’s bathroom for hair trimming supplies and eventually finds it stacked in a far corner of the closet. With trembling hands Victor cuts away at his own hair, cutting the chin length mess to his neck in a short style. He cuts away part of his bangs but leaves a long fringe to hang over his over his eye, a ghost of the past length that was stolen from him.

Victor set the scissors down on the counter and stared into his reflection. He looked older, more mature but behind the normal hairstyle, Victor could see the painful truth lingering in his eyes.

“Victor! We’ll be late to the press conference if you don’t come out of this bathroom in the next thirty seconds.” Yakov warned through the bathroom door. Victor took a deep breath and opened the door, revealing his new image to his mentor.

“Does it look ok?” Victor asked hesitantly.

“It looks good Vitya.” Yakov nodded solemnly. “It suits you.”

“Thanks.” Victor mumbled

“Don’t worry. This will all blow over soon” Yakov reassured, guiding Victor with a firm hand on his shoulder downstairs and to the car that was waiting to take them to the press event.

“Remember: just stay silent and I will handle all of the questions.” Yakov said when they were standing in front of the door leading to the room where the press waiting for them. Yakov reaches out and smooths out a crease that appeared in his RSF issued jacket. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ll live.” Victor reassured, rather unconvincingly. Yakov nodded once and pushed open the door that was separating them from the chaos that is the Russian press.

The room was already filled to the brim with reporters by the time they arrived. As soon as they caught sight of Victor flashes of cameras went off and the reporters shouted a combination of his name and invasive questions.

“ _Victor!”_

_“Victor! Victor over here!”_

_“Who is Vladimir Morozov?”_

_“Victor! Why the hair cut?”_

_“What are your plans for this season?”_

_“Victor! Is it true?”_

“Enough! Questions will only be answered if there is order.” Yakov warned the crowd of ravenous reporters. The coach/student pair sat down in the offered chairs behind a table. Victor kept silent and occasionally sipped at the water bottle sitting in front of him while Yakov answers, or rather deflects, questions.

“You.” Yakov pointed into the crowd. A modestly dressed reporter rose to her feet clutching a notepad in her hands.

“Victor, what is your strategy going into this season?” She asked.

“Victor plans on training harder than the rest of the competition as well as perfecting his quads. We hope to add the quad flip to his roster by the time the Grand Prix series starts.” Yakov said. Even though the question was directed towards Victor he remained silent as instructed.

“Do you plan on making a run for the Grand Prix final?” She inquired.

 _‘Of course I want to win the Grand Prix.’_ Victor frowned to himself, narrowing his eyes at the fake wood grain of the table.

“That is always the goal but for now we are focusing on cultivating a competitive program and working towards a new personal best.” Yakov answered. The reporter nodded and sat down. The room erupted with shouts as they all vied for Yakov’s attention.

“Victor, you recently cut your hair. What were your motivations behind the change?” Another faceless reporter asked.

 _‘My father grabbed me by the head and sliced it off with rusty kitchen shears. I hate my new hair and my head still hurts from where he grabbed too hard. Is that what you wanted to hear?’_ Victor wanted to say but kept his mouth shut.

“Victor wanted to refine his image. His theme for this season is reinvention and he wanted a new personal image that reflected his new brand going forward.” Yakov answered diplomatically.

“Do you care to respond to the allegations that Vladimir Morozov has made against you, Victor? Is it true that you had an affair with him?”

‘ _Yes. I loved him. He betrayed me.’_

“We are not commenting on Victor’s personal life at this time. Mr. Morozov’s comments were out of line and we will be taking up legal action against him for breach of the NDA clause in his contract. Next question.” Yakov responded, clearly eager to move on to a different subject.

“So it’s true then?” The same reporter asked.

“We are not commenting at this time.” Yakov deflected. Yakov attempted to move onto another reporter’s question but this particular reporter wasn’t satisfied with what Yakov had given him.

“Mr. Morozov gave us a comment on the record the other day saying ‘Victor Nikiforov is the worst kind of sexual deviant. While I was under his employment as his program composer he constantly made sexual advances at me. He was always flirting with me and suggesting we retire to private places under the guise of working on the music. He was an absolute nightmare to work with.’ Can you confirm or deny the validity of Mr. Morozov’s statement?” He continued, shouting over Yakov’s attempts to move on to a tamer question.

Victor’s heart sank and unshed tears pricked at the corner of his eyes.

“He said that?” Victor asked, breaking his mute silence for the first time since the interview started. It was unusual for Victor to ever say anything during these events but now everyone in the room turned their microphones and recorders to capture what Victor had to say.

“ _Victor_.” Yakov warned underneath his breath.

“He accuses you of being a gay predator and ‘hazardous to any man you come across’.” The reporter continued, seeing that he had Victor’s attention. Victor knew he was pushing buttons to get a response out of him and it was working marvelously. Livid contempt rose in Victor’s throat and despite his logic he found himself reaching for Yakov’s microphone.

“ _Don’t do this.”_ Yakov whispered covering the live mic so that the room couldn’t hear what he said. Victor took the microphone anyway and sat up in his seat to address the cameras and reporters.

“I wasn’t planning on doing this today, or ever really, but seeing the allegations that has been placed on my character I feel the need to come clean.” Victor started. He took a deep breath before continuing. “I am gay. Vladimir . . . Mr. Morozov was once my fully consenting lover but that is the extent of the truth behind his statement. We had a falling out a few weeks ago over the business of his program compositions and he decided to retaliate by spreading these false rumors that you throw at my face today. Whether any of you believe me or not is not my problem. I know my truth and I know Vladimir Morozov is not a man who can be trusted.” Victor stated, holding his head up confidently even if he was crumbling on the inside.

The room was silent for a brief moment before erupting into chaos. Yakov declared they wouldn’t be taking any more questions and quickly guided Victor out of the room. As soon as they were hidden away in the relative privacy of a room off the main hall, Yakov pulled Victor into a tight hug.

“You stupid, stupid boy.” Yakov chastised. “That was incredibly brave and incredibly stupid of you Vitya.”

“I know.” Victor nodded, bowing his head in shame.

“I’m proud of you Vitya but I hope you realize this won’t be the last you hear of this. This is going to follow you around maybe for years.” Yakov warned.

“I know.” Victor nodded.

“You’re strong, Vitya. If anyone can survive this, it’s you.” Yakov reassured, putting a firm hand and Victor’s shoulder.

“Thank you Yakov. For being here. For everything.” Victor said.

“Just don’t let me regret it. You owe me a decade of gold medals after all of this.” Yakov grumbled gruffly. Despite Yakov’s hard exterior, Victor knew Yakov meant well and would support him during his time of need.

Ultimately, Victor came out of the closet before Vladimir could ever have the chance to use it against him. Much of the skating world was shocked by his admission, many stood beside him in solidarity but far too many were less accepting of Victor coming out. Throughout the entire media shit storm Yakov and Lilia stayed by his side through everything.

The following days were met with a flurry of reporters and lawyers all wanting to know every intimate detail of Victor’s life. He kept some things to himself, such as the true origin of his new hairstyle but that didn’t stop the speculation. Reporters and fans alike speculated the real reason Victor cut his hair but Victor remained silent through everything.

If he wasn’t required to be in an interview Victor holed himself up in Yakov’s guest room. Some days he would just lay numbly in bed until he fell asleep other days he would find himself scrolling through social media against his better judgment. His fan page was littered with varying opinions on what should rightfully be nobody’s business but his own. Even when he went on other skater’s pages it always seemed to come back to the skating world’s favorite hot topic: him.   


 

 

 

 

 

 

The microscope on his life continued far beyond how far he was willing scroll down. Eventually Victor just gave up, shoved his phone out of his reach and buried his head into his pillow, awaiting for sleep to overtake him.  

It took a few days of this cycle before Lilia had to finally put her foot down and dragged Victor out of his room for some fresh air. While on his forced walk Victor wound up back at the rink. With nothing left to lose and absolutely nothing left to gain, Victor punched in the security code to let himself into the nearly empty rink. A few of his rinkmates were on the ice and even fewer were training in the gym. Some of them gave him strange looks but otherwise left Victor to his own devices.

Victor slowly walked around the perimeter of the quiet rink. He hadn’t thought to grab his skates on his way out of Yakov and Lilia’s house but at this point he hadn’t skated in nearly a week and, despite everything, he was still itching to get back out there.

Victor charmed a pair of rental skates off of one of the rink workers. The skates weren’t exactly ideal but he set his things down against the outer wall of the rink and numbly laced up his skates on a nearby bench anyway.

His first step onto the ice felt like coming home and suddenly the entire world melted away. Victor absently skated laps around the empty ice, reveling in the sound of his skates carving into the ice and the wind brushing through the short strands of his hair.

Skating after all that has happened almost felt foreign, he didn’t feel like himself anymore. Victor felt like a different person stepping onto the ice but now he realized he wasn’t different, he just changed.

Wasn’t that the theme of his program anyway? Change?

At the beginning of the season, before Vladimir came into his life, Victor wanted to show the world how he had changed as a skater from his junior days. He wanted people to look at him and take him seriously as a competitor.

That wasn’t change.

Change, as it would turn out, came at a cost to a person’s soul, a cost that nearly broke him.

Victor skates over to the barrier of the rink and pulls his phone out of his bag. He slips the earbuds into his ears and skated back over to the center of the ice. For the first time in far too long Victor takes a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders. He pressed play on the song that he had been avoiding since all of this started.

Victor closes his eyes and lets the music take him away.

With tears streaming down his face Victor skated Vladimir’s song like he’s never skated it before. He poured all of the pain and anguish in his soul into reflecting the violin’s pain. He fueled his anger into his blades cutting into the ice. When the violin screamed, he screamed. His pain and the violin’s pain was intertwined.

When the music ended Victor collapsed onto his knees on the hard ice. He bent over himself sobbing and gasping with his forehead pressed against the cool ice. His heart ached, his feet hurt, his muscles screamed but his soul felt at peace.

Victor’s never skated like that before, like he was leaving himself laid bare on the ice for the entire world to see. As much as it liberated Victor’s tired soul he was left feeling drained and numb. Reflecting on his performance, Victor felt that for the first time in forever a part of him felt like he belonged there out on the ice. Maybe there was hope for him yet. Maybe he could still find his place to belong in the skating world.

So Victor pulled himself upright and skated back to center ice and pressed play on the song again. Victor skated the program on repeat until the sun set below the Neva and he had nothing left to give to the ice.

When moonlight started to filter through the large windows overlooking the rink, Victor returned his borrowed skates and walked out of the rink feeling more satisfied with his skating than he’s ever been.

Victor returned to Yakov and Lilia’s place and was welcomed by the smells of a fragrant hot meal on the stove. Lilia welcomed him home as if Victor were family and Yakov patted Victor’s back in a familiar welcome. Dinner was a comfortable affair and for a brief moment it felt like they were a true family.

“I think I want to keep my music.” Victor admitted to Yakov.

“Absolutely not. You do not owe that snake anything.There’s still time for us to find you new music.” Yakov rejected firmly.

“I’m not doing this because of some sort of twisted sense of obligation, Yakov. I went to the rink today and I skated better than I ever have skating to his music. I’m not happy about what happened either but I want to continue using that music, if only to prove that he nor anyone else can break me.” Victor insisted. Yakov sighed and rubbed at his forehead as if to relieve some sort of ache.

“I can’t stop you if this is what you really want, Vitya.” Yakov conceded.

“Thank you Yakov.” Victor said appreciatively.

The months that followed culminated in Victor standing proudly on top of the podium in the GPF, a glimmering gold medal hanging around his neck and a world record victory on every spectator’s lips. Victor could feel a glimmer of Vladimir’s memory tainting the medal around his neck but even the smallest amount of bitterness was outweighed by the pride he had in himself for proving that everyone was wrong about him.

He is strong.

He is a fighter.

He is a champion.

He is queer.

He will never let anybody take advantage of him ever again.

Victor would gladly accept a lonely life on top of the podium if it meant his heart would remain guarded and protected. Even still, Victor still hoped that maybe one day he would find a lovely piano to brighten his mournful melody.

But for now Victor was content keeping to himself in an endless cycle of rebirth and reinvention for the sake of not slowing down long enough to allow anyone to hurt him ever again.   


**Author's Note:**

> I don't usually write angst but this has been sitting in my WIP folder since August so I figured I'd stretch out of my comfort zone a little and finish it. I wanted to write Victor's origin story and I found myself inspired by Kesha's Praying.
> 
> Tumblr: Cait-writes-stuff  
> Twitter: caitwritestuff


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